Passing the Prankster Torch
by DistrictNineAndThreeQuarters
Summary: In which James Sirius Potter meets his notoriously mischievous namesakes, and reminiscing and banter ensue! A sequel to Namesakes, but can stand alone.


A/N: This one-shot is actually a prequel of sorts to Namesakes, in which Albus Severus meets the portraits of Snape and Dumbledore. I won't lie; I think it's the best fic I've written so far, and I would recommend it. But you don't need to read it to understand this.

Anyways, a fic in which James Sirius Potter is introduced to the portraits of his namesakes. Reviews, favourites, and con crit are always appreciated. Enjoy! Set during the summer between James's first and second years, from James's POV.

* * *

**Passing the Prankster Torch**

"James, did Mum and I ever tell you who you were named after?" Dad asks as he walks into the kitchen, magicking himself a mug of coffee.

I set down my half-finished toast. That's a random question if I've ever heard one. "No. You know what else you didn't tell me?"

"What?"

"Why you won't teach me how to work that map I found in your desk."

"First off, found is not a synonym for nicked," Dad corrects, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "And don't you think you've caused enough trouble at Hogwarts without it?"

I sputter indignantly. _Enough_ trouble? Is there even such a thing? "Is this about the time I nearly beheaded that Slytherin with a Fanged Frisbee?"

"Not specifically, but it is a good example."

"That was _not_ causing trouble!" I protest.

"In what way was that not causing trouble, James?"

"Well first, he was a Slytherin. And second, it was a _near_-beheading, not a full one. Big difference. Just ask Nearly Headless Nick."

Dad chuckles and smiles in that way that I always assume means I've won. "Let's take a little trip." He holds out his hand and I take it, bracing myself for the awful, claustrophobic suffocation of Apparating.

* * *

"Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London," Dad tells me, opening the worn front door of a flat that he just materialised. How oblivious can Muggles get? "Granted, it was in a much worse state when I first saw it."

He leads me down a long hallway flickering with the light of gas lamps. Portraits of people I've never met line the wall. Some smile and wave as we pass, others scowl and even duck out of their frames with outraged expressions.

"What is this place?" I wonder as we trudge up a flight of stairs. I cough violently from the dust clouding the air.

"The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, where my godfather was raised. Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, which I will tell you about a different time. And of course, the first official testing ground of Extendable Ears."

"Speaking of ears, what happened to Uncle George's?"

"You should ask him next time you see him. You should also ask him and Fred about what in Merlin's name convinced them that teaching you how to dismantle a Hogwarts toilet was a good idea."

I snigger at the memory. "Don't try to tell me that wasn't a good birthday gift."

Dad laughs. "Here," he directs, opening one of the many doors.

I can feel my jaw drop as I look around. The bedroom is oozing with Gryffindor pride. Red and gold everywhere, lions, Gryffindor pendants and posters and everything. "Why can't I decorate my room this way?"

"As long as you forgo the pin-up posters, I'm fine with it."

"Whose room is this?" I ask, mesmerised by a picture of four boys laughing and grinning in the Gryffindor common room.

"This room belonged to my godfather, who happened to be the only Gryffindor in his family, Sirius Orion Black. And one of his best friends was my father, James Potter."

"No way."

Dad smiles and crosses the room, to two large golden frames, portraits of men.

"Sirius Orion 'Padfoot' Black," I read off the plaque beneath the frame. The man has short, wavy black hair, a moustache, and grey eyes. He smiles at me silently, waiting.

"James 'Prongs' Potter," I read off the second name. "My grandfather?"

The man nods. He looks almost identical to Dad, except his eyes are hazel. He wears glasses and his hair is just as unruly as my Dad's always seems to be. "Where's my grandmother?" I ask.

Sirius turns to Granddad. "I think she's with the portrait of Snivellus."

"Can portraits commit adultery?" Granddad asks Sirius, who rolls his eyes.

"We're made of paint, Prongs. How do you even…I don't…I'm going to be up all night working that one out."

"Why did you even allow a portrait of Snivellus in your house?"

Sirius laughs and looks at Dad. "I made the mistake of letting Wonder Boy here redecorate."

"Like you could stop me. I am Harry James Potter, the Chosen Redecorator!"

"The Boy Who Lived Long Enough to Desecrate His Godfather's House," Sirius teases.

"Sirius, this place was desecrated the minute your mother's portrait went up," Dad snaps back with a broad grin.

"No one's arguing that."

"Who's Snivellus?" I cut in.

"_Severus_ Snape. My old Potions Master, former Headmaster of Hogwarts," Dad answers.

"Wait, _Severus_?! Like Albus _Severus_ Potter?!"

"Damn it, Harry, what did you do?!" Sirius groans. Dad shrugs and makes a "who me?" expression, kind of like the one I see Uncle Ron make when Aunt Hermione asks him about pretty much anything.

Suddenly, Dad's voice drops several octaves. I've only heard him speak this softly a handful of times: when he told me about Voldemort, when he explained why Aunt Hermione has a word—_that _word—carved into her arm, when he explained the fates of Teddy's parents. "Dad, I told you this whole story," Dad reminds his own father, who nods, his expression suddenly grim.

"One day I'll tell you all this, James," he promises, looking back to me. "We don't have enough time right now."

"I can't believe you named your youngest son after Snape," Sirius interrupts.

Dad rolls his eyes. "Middle-named. And you don't have to hold such a huge grudge against him."

"Old habits die hard."

"I have a question," I chime in. "Why are you guys called Padfoot and Prongs?"

Granddad grins. "We're Animagi. It means we can turn into animals at will. You see, I took the form of a stag, and Padfoot here was a dog. Hence, Padfoot and Prongs. We also had another friend named Remus Lupin, or Moony, and he was a werewolf. I think he's with his wife's portrait right now."

"And then Peter Pettigrew, who was a rat, and we called him Wormtail. But you don't need to meet him; I'm sure Harry can attest to what a disgusting, traitorous excuse for a human being he turned out to be," Sirius added.

"And together, we were the Marauders!" Granddad finishes triumphantly.

"The Marauders?!" I gasp.

"You told him about us?" Sirius asks Dad, who shakes his head.

"Actually, I tried my hardest to keep him from ever finding that out."

"Can you tell me how your map works?" I ask enthusiastically.

"He nicked it from your drawer, didn't he?" Granddad guesses. Dad nods and sighs heavily.

"Please don't tell him how it works. He's wreaked enough havoc already. He's sent home half of Hogwarts's toilet seats and he's only going into his second year."

"You've raised him well!" Sirius cries happily.

"Way to pass the prankster torch! Remember our first year, Padfoot?"

"When we turned Marlene's hair neon green?"

"Or how about when we charmed that Ravenclaw girl's homework to catch fire when she tried to turn it in?"

"Or when we flooded the Slytherin dormitory with that rain charm?"

"Guys, please stop giving him ideas," Dad groans. "He's got the twins for that."

"The charm to activate the map is 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good,'" Sirius says.

"And the charm to wipe it is 'mischief managed,'" Granddad says.

"Thanks!"

"You've just doomed us all," Dad mutters. "Hope you're proud of yourselves."

"Extremely!" Granddad grins. "Now, let me tell you about the time Moony and I rigged some of the stairs to randomly turn into quicksand."

"You mean you guys are the reason I nearly suffocate on my way to breakfast every morning?"

"Mischief managed, eh, Padfoot?" Granddad chuckles.

Sirius laughs. "Mischief managed, indeed."


End file.
